


Night Changes

by aclosetlarryshipper



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: But it's just weed so does it really count?, I guess I could also tag Denny's, M/M, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Rutting, That is also a thing, That's pretty much all you need to know tbh, Yum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 15:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aclosetlarryshipper/pseuds/aclosetlarryshipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn’t think they’d still be dancing the same dance three years later, stuck in a limbo between darkness and twilight. Stuck between the safe and the unknown, the past and the future, what could be and what is.</p><p>or</p><p>Harry and Louis go for a midnight drive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Changes

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [adifferentkindofson](http://adifferentkindofson.tumblr.com) for the beta and for making the thing happen when I realized you were right and I actually wrote a pining fic. Thank you to [Naureen](http://yourwildestsdreams.tumblr.com) for the tumblr graphic :)
> 
> I wrote this in two days. It was my attempt to fight writer's block.

Harry creeps out of the front door with the same practiced grace he’s perfected over the years. He turns the lock slowly, pushing the door in as he does so it doesn’t catch and make a sound.

Quiet, quiet. They’ll never know a thing.

He steps away from the door on his tiptoes, eyes lifted to his parent’s window to be sure their light stays off.

And once he’s sure he’s made it, he runs.

The chilly night air slaps his face as he begins his jog, ruminating over the fact that it’s actually been _three years._ Three years since that chance, late night meeting as Harry, fourteen and angsty, wandered around the neighborhood with nowhere to go, fuming from an insignificant fight with his sister.

He didn’t realize it would be the night that turned his world upside-down.  The night he’d meet a shadow of salvation, cold fingers, foggy breath, dead silence.

Louis.

He didn’t think they’d still be dancing the same dance three years later, stuck in a limbo between darkness and twilight. Stuck between the safe and the unknown, the past and the future, what could be and what is.

He thinks there could be light waiting on the horizon, though, the sun prepared and ready to strike. Harry’s not sure he minds one way or another—after all, change is the only constant to be expected in the world.

And he’s been stagnant for too long.

A car passes, the headlights sweeping across Harry’s body for a moment before it’s going. Going. Gone. Swallowed by the night. Harry wonders who was driving and whether there was someone in the passenger seat; whether they were laughing as they passed, oblivious to the lone fool jogging through the frost, leaves crunching below his feet.

He hopes they were.

It was how Harry and Louis’ friendship first blossomed, Harry in the passenger seat, Louis driving nowhere and everywhere. Louis feels like the moon to him in this way, a nighttime constant, a source of light among the abyss of darkness, elusive and ethereal at times.

Harry stumbles over a rock and remembers to cross the street so Mrs. McGuire’s Rottweiler doesn’t wake the entire neighborhood. Once he regains his footing, he runs faster, the cold air freezing his throat and lungs.

Faster, better. His body feels loose and unrestricted at night, alive with the possibilities to come, alive with a break from the monotonous daytime.

The run is short, but he much prefers Louis’ car to the cold.

He slows to a casual walk as he turns the corner and finally makes it to Louis’ street, willing his breathing to return to usual. It’s pointless because Louis knows he always runs to get to him, and it’s not like he can breathe normally around Louis anyway.

And it’s not like Louis doesn’t know that, either.

Once he makes it to the passenger side of the familiar black car, he opens the door and climbs inside.

Louis doesn’t flinch or glance up at the slam. He’s rolling a fat joint between his fingers, his face blank as unused canvas, contemplative.

Harry feels like his heart unclenches, the anxiety washed away from his body in a quick breath. He smiles to himself, ignoring the guilt, because now he knows exactly how Louis’ previous night went.

“Zayn pulled through,” Louis says after another moment of silence. He wastes no time and pulls a lighter from his pocket, clicking it on with his thumb. The light from the flame flickers across Louis’ face, highlighting his cheekbones and the almost unnoticeable bags beneath his eyes. He never does sleep enough.

Louis turns the keys and brings the lit joint to his lips, body rigid. He switches the car into drive and begins their slow crawl around the neighborhood, his knuckles white around the steering wheel.

Harry watches as Louis inhales, his eyes avoidant, glittering with the streetlight streaming through the slightly fogged up windows in constant intervals.

He’s never as accessible before the smoke hits him, boxed in like a present Harry has to work to unwrap. But Harry knows it’s only a matter of time before Louis lets everything out, coaxed by the smoke and buried feelings passing through his lungs.

Louis passes the joint over, their fingers brushing for a glorious moment. The smoke warms Harry’s throat as he takes the first hit, but it doesn’t burn like it did the first few times they did this, young and fumbling, naïve. It unfreezes the chill that settled inside him, which Harry thinks is fitting.

“Zayn didn’t want to stay and help?” Harry asks once the air is foggy and thick, clinging to Harry’s clothes in a way he knows he’ll regret later. He passes the joint back to Louis, watching unrestrained as he brings it to his lips again, sucking like he’s willing it to solve all of his problems.

The world is slow and peaceful. Harry feels himself relax into the seat and unrolls his window a bit to let some smoke out, though he realizes that kind of ruins it.

Louis shakes his head, holding the smoke in for a moment before breathing it out Harry’s way. It should be troubling that his eyes aren’t on the road, but it’s not like there’s anyone out in the neighborhood anyway, too dark, too late, and too cold. Nobody’s as unreasonable as Harry.

His eyes already feel heavy and his heart feels like it’s as loud as a drum, so he shakes his head when Louis tries to pass back to him.

“More for me, then,” Louis shrugs, taking another drag. It’s too much at once and will hit Louis like lightning, but Harry knows it’s probably exactly what Louis had in mind in the first place, anyway.

They’ve almost made it around the entire neighborhood when Harry thinks it’s probably not a good idea for Louis to keep driving.

“You should stop here,” Harry suggests.

Louis agrees and pulls up to the curb, shutting the gas and headlights off but leaving the radio playing lowly in the background. Harry bobs his head to a song he hates but finds oddly tolerable at the moment, taking a look around.

He can see that they’re near the park, surrounded by a field and small parking lot. Harry thinks that if it weren’t so cold, he’d probably suggest that they go sit on the monkey bars just for a change of scenery. A change in _something._

But it’s much too cold for that; he can feel the temperature seeping into his skin through his thin sweatshirt already.

Louis takes one last, long drag of sweet smoke and opens the car door, throwing the burned remains to the floor and stomping on it before he brings all of his limbs into the car again.

Harry knows what’s coming before it comes, all too used to Louis’ weed-induced panic and confessions.

Louis finally looks at him, eyes red and glassy. Harry doesn’t miss the way his gaze roams and settles over his chest and shoulders, quickly like he doesn’t want to give himself time to process it. Harry pretends he doesn’t notice for his own sanity.

It’s not the first time it’s happened.

“My jaw hurts,” Louis begins, fingers digging into his thighs. He squeezes his eyes shut and takes in a deep breath. “Fuck, I’m already vibrating.”

Louis always has been the type to go from zero to one hundred. He’s crossed the line between all there and gone in record time.

“You’re not vibrating,” Harry reassures him, bringing his hand to Louis’ knee. When he snaps his head to Harry, he can see that Louis’ eyes are wide and paranoid, staring but not seeing. But Harry’s calmed him down from this so many times it’s become second nature, even when his mind is slow and working at half speed.

“Harry, I can’t breathe. I think I’m dying,” Louis panics.

“You’re not going to die,” Harry almost laughs, pulling Louis’ hand from his thigh and lacing their fingers together over his own. “I’m here and you’re fine. I won’t let anything bad happen.”

“Okay,” Louis breathes, nodding, his eyes glued to Harry’s neck. It feels nice like this, holding Louis’ hand and Louis squeezing his fingers as he tries to focus on remembering to breathe. It’s comfortable, familiar: exactly how things play out every other night Louis overestimates his tolerance.

But Harry knows tonight is different. Tonight is more. Tonight is _important._ Tonight is a new dawn.

“Why’s your jaw hurt?” Harry asks tentatively. He thinks he probably knows, and that makes him kind of sad, but it’s not like he really has a right to be upset. He feels too calm to worry, anyway, here in Louis’ car with Louis’ fingers warm against his. He’s not sure he’d be too fazed by much at this point.

Everything feels hazy around the edges. His blood feels like it’s slower and warmer under his skin, pumping through his body like slow moving magma.

“Big dick,” Louis confirms Harry’s suspicions, bringing his free hand to his jaw. He opens and closes his mouth slowly, over and over again until Harry realizes they’ve both zoned out.

Harry knows something terrible must have happened between then and now, because Louis’ here with him. Louis is here with him, and not with Aiden. It feels significant in some way, but Harry can’t quite put his finger on exactly why.

“What happened?” Harry prompts him. Louis snaps his eyes back to him like he forgot he was there.

“I’m… I’m still vibrating,” he says instead of answering, his eyebrows pulling together in alarm, fingers tightening around Harry’s.

It takes just a jerk of Harry’s head until they’re both scrambling into the backseat. Louis reaches for him once the door slams shut behind him and half climbs into Harry’s lap, head pillowed against his neck and shoulder.

It’s not a new position. Louis is extra touchy when he’s high, in need of constant reassurance Harry is always all too eager to give. Harry ghosts his fingers down Louis’ side slowly, _wanting, wanting, wanting_. One day.

“He’s a jerk,” Louis whispers. Harry pulls Louis more fully into his lap and wraps both arms around his waist, making the conversation easier on both ends and pleasing Harry’s masochistic side.

“What’d he do?” he asks, rubbing his cheek against Louis’ hair. It feels nice, soft and only a little bit cold, and smells good. Harry never wants to breathe in anything else ever again.

“Used me,” Louis sniffles. His breath hitches, and Harry can feel his jaw clenching against his shoulder. He wants to bring his thumb there and rub out the tension.

Louis doesn’t give him a chance. “Told me after I sucked him off that he didn’t think the date was such a good idea after all. Wants to still be friends, though.”

“What a dick,” Harry acknowledges. Louis’ fingers splay across his chest, weak but insistent.

“What’d I do wrong?” Louis asks after a tense pause, his voice already watery. Harry knows it’s only a matter of time before he combusts, smoke and debris. “Why doesn’t he like me?”

It feels like all of the breath is drained from Harry’s body, the magma flow halted and cooling.

“Sorry, Lou,” he says through clenched teeth, because he _knows._

“Are you _sure_ I’m not vibrating?” Louis asks, bringing his knees to his chest, his foot banging against Harry’s thigh. “I think I’m still vibrating. Are you sure I’m okay? I don’t think I am.”

“You’re not vibrating,” Harry reassures him. He brings a hand to his knee and squeezes, reassuring. “You’re fine, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

He regrets not having taken the extra hits. Louis wouldn’t be a needy mess and he wouldn’t have to take care of him and they wouldn’t be having the conversation.

Or maybe they would be.

“How am I supposed to pretend this doesn’t fuck me up?” Louis murmurs, nose cold against Harry’s skin. “How was I supposed to see him at work and act like nothing happened? I’ve liked him for so long, and it was all ruined in one night.”

Harry rubs his fingertips against Louis’ back under his sweatshirt, touching his bare skin. It makes him feel tingly all over, nerves like electricity.

And then his breathing gets heavier, his heart explodes in a mess of unrequited love poems and spilled ink, and he’s not consciously aware of what he’s saying until it’s _out._

“I’ve been trying to get you to like me for, like, three years. So I’m probably not the best person to ask.”

Silence.

A cat passes by outside, fur black and shiny. A gust of wind blows, shaking the leaves of the nearby trees. The crescent moon shines on.

Louis tenses in his arms but doesn’t say anything for a few suspended moments. And then the shaking begins.

“Please—God, please, Louis, don’t cry,” Harry begs, but it’s already too late. Tears are streaming down Louis’ face, thick and cold to match the weather. They seep into the skin of Harry’s neck and he feels the ice down to his bones.

“I’m sorry,” Louis cries, lips pressed to Harry’s collarbone. He tries to say more, but his words are caught in the breath between consciousness and wonderland, leaving him blubbering and incoherent.

Harry holds him through it, mind focused and distracted by the wetness on the skin of his neck. He tunes out Louis’ sniffles and disjointed apologies because it’s nothing he hasn’t heard a million times before.

They’ve been stuck in the backseat for years.

“Shh, _I’m_ sorry,” he reassures Louis, hugging him closer when his apologies evolve into jagged breathing and broken sobs. He sighs and rubs his cheek against Louis’ hair again, thankful the world still feels slow because, though it isn’t exactly unheard of, seeing Louis like this is never easy.

His brain clicks to the first time it happened; Harry was sixteen and tired from staying up late studying for finals. Louis was eighteen and exhausted from working a ten-hour shift.

Louis had just been given a blue bong from his coworker. They didn’t realize how much harder it hit, and only moments after his third hit, Louis forgot how to talk.

Harry laughed at him. Louis was gesticulating, his face focused and eyes wide as jumble poured from his mouth.

And then Harry saw the tears. His laugh stopped short in his throat.

“Are you actually _crying?”_ he asked. Louis couldn’t do anything but nod, so Harry launched himself over the seat divider and let him cry on his shoulder.

And that was the day he first learned that when Louis cries, there’s nothing you can do but wait it out. Wait for it to pass like cars at a traffic light, watching for the yellow before the red.

It finally comes when Louis quiets.

He stops shaking and his breath comes out more evenly, steady and warm against Harry’s neck. He can feel Louis’ wet eyelashes open, tickling his throat, so he know it’s only a matter of time before he comes back up for air.

He normally takes a few minutes to recuperate as he comes down and even longer to show his face again. Harry’s not in a rush, though. He runs his fingers through Louis’ hair and focuses on his heartbeat, loud and fast again.

Eventually, Louis extricates himself from Harry’s lap and puts a bit of space between them.

It’s cold. Harry wants to pull him back into him, but he knows that would only make it worse for him in the morning if things go south.

“Sorry about that,” Louis finally mumbles, wiping below his eyes. They’re still red, but not glazed over like he’s halfway faraway. He doesn’t look like he wants to say anything more about it. Harry stares, willing Louis to say something, _anything_ really, has been waiting three years, until—

“I’m hungry. Denny’s?” Louis asks, killing the moment. He must know Harry would agree to anything he asks, because he steps out of the car without looking back.

Which is okay. Harry _would_ do anything he asks. He follows, climbing back into the passenger seat, back to where things are as they always have been, where they make sense. Back to a solid separation between the two of them. Back to reality.

“You’re good to drive?” Harry asks. Louis might roll his eyes, but he also might nod.

Their town is small, fifteen minutes from end to end, and Louis always takes the most ridiculous ways to get to their destination. He drives through the dimly lit areas Harry would never feel comfortable walking alone, through the abandoned dirt streets that have fields on one side and properties with huge backyards on the other, through neighborhoods with houses so extravagant they have separate guest houses.

It’s different every time, and sometimes Harry thinks Louis just drives with no real destination in mind. He’s not sure how he can do that, aimlessly wander when they have places to go, but it’s not like he cares. Most of his favorite memories and conversations have taken place with Louis driving and him in the passenger seat, sometimes still a little bit buzzed from a joint and always a little bit high off of each other’s presence.

He thinks he’ll probably always associate the passenger seat of a car with Louis—with late night driving, with the smell of weed, with cold air because Louis’ heater has _never_ worked, with conversations that will be forever burned into Harry’s memory.

They drive by a field they’ve passed a million times before. Harry remembers years ago, Louis told him he’d always thought his curls looked better long in the exact spot. He imagines replaying the night on a movie projector, but he doesn’t think much would look different. The town is timeless, unchanging, a snapshot of the past, present, and future, all progressing at the same sluggish pace.

They come to a halt at a stop sign, and Harry remembers it was here, the first time he’d ever been in a car that had been rear-ended. Remembers how Louis had fussed over him, running his fingers through his hair and making sure he was actually unhurt. A switch in pace.

The drive through a neighborhood Harry vaguely remembers. He thinks it’s possible Zayn was ditched at a party here once and he and Louis came to rescue him. The memory makes him smile a bit.

But with everything in Harry’s life, it’s impossible to drive through town without being plagued by memories, good and bad, all resonating back to _Louis._

“Think I’m going for pancakes,” Louis finally breaks the silence. Harry nods. He’s not surprised, because he always does.

“Think I’m going for the omelet,” Harry says, riding the last of his high, but Louis doesn’t make the face he usually makes at the thought of Harry ordering something almost healthy.

It’s new. Harry thinks he approves of the shift.

They reach Denny’s only a few minutes later, the parking spaces all empty except for two. Louis parks and they make their way inside, away from the chill.

Rhonda, the blonde waitress who knows them both by name, seats them. She ignores their red eyes and asks whether they’d like their usual.

Louis smiles his crinkly-eyed smile and nods. Harry gets brave and brings his ankle to Louis’. The room shifts, but neither of them moves.

Once Rhonda’s left to give their order to the kitchen, Louis brings his elbow to the table and sets his face in his hand.

“What’d you do last night, Curly?” he asks, toying with the silverware wrapped in a napkin with his free hand.

Harry thinks about lying—saying he went out with a girl or boy from his English class and got lucky, but he knows Louis would see straight through him.

“Hung out with Niall,” Harry shrugs. “Taught me some Green Day on the guitar. Got some fries.”

“Nice,” Louis grimaces, eyes tight under the fluorescent light. “Wish I was with you.”

Harry nods, eyes locked on Louis’, the heat from his ankle searing.

Louis tears his eyes from Harry’s and looks down. “Do you ever think, like. That sometimes you trick yourself into thinking something? And then you sort of latch onto this truth you’ve accepted. But it isn’t _actually_ the truth?”

“You still high?” Harry teases him just as Rhonda comes back with their waters and straws and sets them on the table.

Louis thanks her, turning his attention back to Harry once she pinches his cheek and makes her way back to the kitchen.

“I’m being serious,” he insists, leaning forward. “Like, do you know what I mean?”

Harry unwraps his straw as he thinks it over. He thinks he might understand what Louis could be getting at, but he doesn’t want to get his hopes too high. Doesn’t know exactly how to process the thought, anyway.

“Explain it to me,” Harry requests.

Louis’ eyebrows furrow. He steals Harry’s cup of water and takes a sip through his straw, ignoring his own. It feels like a power play.

“It’s kind of hard to explain,” Louis elaborates.

Harry raises an eyebrow and steals his cup back. _“Try.”_

“Fine!” Louis brings both hands on top of the table and takes a breath. “Like, okay, take Aiden, for example. I’ve always built him up as this—this ideal guy. That he’d _be_ my dream guy once we got together.”

“I’m very aware,” Harry almost rolls his eyes.

Louis blinks. _“Anyway.”_

“Sorry, continue,” Harry allows.

The corners of Louis’ mouth twitch. “So, Aiden. We’ve been working together for how long? Five months? Six?”

“Think it’s more like six,” Harry offers, cheeks going red when he realizes it outs how closely he’s been paying attention.

“Six,” Louis nods, grinning at the slip-up. “And throughout that time, I just accepted that he’d never love me because he was dating that tall, stupidly muscular guy. Did you ever meet him?”

Harry nods, mind rewinding to the night he visited Louis at the restaurant months earlier. He remembers how Louis glared daggers at a man dressed in blue seated at Aiden’s table, explaining that he’d finally met Aiden’s boyfriend and he was hotter than he was expecting.

“Yeah, so I was just—I never thought I’d have a chance, but then when he told me they broke up, I realized it was a possibility! That, like, I could _make_ it happen.”

Rhonda interrupts them with their food. She sets the pancakes in front of Louis and the omelet in front of Harry, and then refills their water.

Harry pulls his fork from his napkin and digs into his omelet. Louis doesn’t touch his pancakes, but he shifts his leg so their calves are touching instead of just their ankles.

“So when he agreed to go out with me, I should have felt… I don’t know, happy? But instead I felt, like, weird about it. Which was weird, wasn’t it? Because I’d built him up to be my dream guy. I should have been _excited.”_

Harry nods, chewing his omelet slowly. “That would make sense.”

“Right?” Louis looks like he’s two minutes from pulling his hair out. “I was just. I was so _wrong._ But I didn’t, like. When I realized I didn’t really care whether the date went well or not, I didn’t care like I thought I would. And that… it scared me.”

“So you tricked yourself into thinking you wanted to date Aiden, but you realized you didn’t really want to date him?” Harry sets his fork down and takes a sip of his water. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“Well, basically, yeah,” Louis confirms. He grabs the syrup from the end of the table and dumps it all over his pancakes. Harry watches as the brown liquid flows, cascading onto the plate and creating a swimming pool.

“So what’s the truth, then?” Harry asks, remembering the last part of Louis’ original declaration. He stares, fork suspended in midair as Louis cuts into his pancakes. Louis doesn’t stare back. “What did you realize?”

Louis takes a bite of his pancakes, moaning a little bit at the first bite. “The truth is that these are fucking _amazing.”_

Harry waits for him to elaborate, to give an actual answer, but it never comes. They finish the rest of their breakfast food in silence, legs pressed together, question lingering unanswered.

Harry pays the check when Rhonda gives it to them since Louis always refuses gas money. He gives her a generous tip and a smile as he passes the money over.

“Thanks for having us,” Harry says, tucking his wallet back into his pocket.

“It makes my night a little better when I see you two in my booth,” she shrugs. “Watching you two flirt always warms my heart.”

Harry can feel Louis freeze up beside him. Any other night they’d be able to laugh it off, maybe wiggle their eyebrows at each other and indulge her, but tonight it skirts too close to the unspoken.

“See you later,” Louis nods a beat too late, fingers wrapping around Harry’s bicep as they turn.

The bell jingles above their head as they pass through the front door. Louis huddles closer to shield himself from the wind, his cheek digging into Harry’s shoulder as they brave their way to Louis’ car.

Once they’re inside, Louis puts the key in the ignition but doesn’t move to go back home. He’s biting his lip, fingers tapping against the steering wheel, when he turns to Harry.

“Can we just, like, go to the beach? I just need to drive. Somewhere.”

Harry nods, shrugs. It’s not like he’d be sleeping, anyway.

Louis sighs out a breath of relief and turns the radio up high, effectively ridding them of the chance to talk.

They sing top 40 songs on their way to the coast, the entire hour and a half drive. Harry rolls his window down while they’re on the highway so he can pretend he’s in a Katy Perry music video, but Louis yells that he’ll leave him at the side of the road if he doesn’t roll it back up. Harry listens and kicks his feet up on the dashboard, head turned so he can watch the trees blur as they pass them. It's easier than staring at Louis' profile, stars glimmering and airplanes flashing in the sky behind him.

Harry nods off halfway through. It feels like only a minute later Louis is shaking him awake.

“Harry, get up. The sun is rising soon. We’re not missing it.”

Harry groans and presses his cheek to the cold window. It’s more effective at waking him than Louis’ gentle fingers.

He groans and stretches his arms before stepping out of the car. It’s still dark, the sky’s deep navy blue the only hint that it’s almost morning. Gravel crunches beneath his feet and the wind whips around his head, no doubt making his hair frizz. He doesn’t really care.

Louis pulls the blanket from his trunk and leads the way to the sand, the frayed edge dragging along the ground behind him. Harry thinks maybe it would be a nice gesture to pick it up for him, but his feet feel like lead and he’s not sure he could match Louis’ ridiculous early morning enthusiasm.

Louis lays the blanket out as close to the waterline as possible, where the sand is dark and damp, littered with tiny holes made by sand crabs. He leaves room for Harry and sits, weight on the heels of his hands behind him, his body open to the sunrise.

Harry plops down beside him and rests his head in his lap, face turned to the horizon. He brings his knees to his chest and wraps both arms around his calves, curling into a ball.

“You okay?” Louis asks, fingers coming to rake through Harry’s hair.

Harry nods, cheek pressed into the denim of Louis’ jeans. The blanket’s so cold it feels wet, but he figures there’s nowhere he’d rather be.

The only sound is the crash and rush of the waves as the sun peeks out above the horizon, painting the beginnings of the sky a golden hue of pink and orange.

Louis’ fingers pause in tracing patterns across Harry’s scalp. Harry turns onto his back to look up at Louis and ask what’s wrong, but his words get caught in his throat. Louis’ eyelashes are brightened against the rising sun, the pale orange tinge making his skin glow even more. He looks stunning as always, even the unshaven spots of beard on his jaw and his disheveled hair somehow attractive in the light.

He can kind of see up Louis’ nose from this angle, too, but he finds that a lot less beautiful.

“Do you still want to hear the truth?” Louis asks, his voice hardly more than a whisper.

Harry nods. He brings his hand to Louis’ back at an awkward angle, fingers drifting over the knobs of his spine in encouragement.

He feels Louis’ intake of the breath, the way his whole body expands with the force of it. “I think the truth is I never really wanted Aiden in the first place.”

Harry closes his eyes and lets the words wash over him like a wave. It’s the moment before the tide comes in, before it all comes rushing forward.

“What do you mean?” Harry implores.

Louis shakes his knee. Harry sits up but keeps their thighs pressed together, tangles their pinkies together when he leans back to marvel at the colors in the sky.

“I think I mean he was a distraction. Or, like, an _excuse.”_

Harry bites his lip and hopes he means what he _thinks_ he means. Louis is so close, _so close._

“An excuse to not go after someone else. Someone I’d always just kind of written off as someone I couldn’t fall in love with. That I didn’t _want_ to fall in love with.”

The sun is higher now, the sky mostly a pale blue scattered with white clouds. Harry wishes he thought to bring sunglasses. It’s almost too bright.

“I need something more specific,” Harry prompts him. He’s not daft, he _knows,_ but the thought of reading into this wrong is too daunting.

Louis slides his hand on top of Harry’s. “You know what I mean. I think you’ve known this whole night.”

“Why now?” Harry asks, because he can’t _not_ know. He has to know what changed. Three years of rejection, of kisses to the cheek aimed for the mouth, of listening to Louis go on and on about how their friendship is too important to compromise, might have left Harry cynical and pessimistic.

When Louis answers, his breath is hot against Harry’s ear, his lips brushing the skin. “I think I realized, like, my feelings for you aren’t going to just go away like I’ve always hoped. I think I’ve always known it’d happen eventually, and I’m finally ready to try. With you.”

Harry lets the words permeate through him and shakes his head. It’s sweet, everything he’s ever wanted, really, but it’s not _enough._ It’s not enough. Louis can’t just expect him to accept that everything can change in one night after three years of absolutely nothing from just a few, short sentences.

“You can’t. Louis, you can’t just say that. You can just say that and expect me to say, like, _yeah, Louis, this solves everything. Make love to me on this blanket and we’ll live happily ever after.”_

“That’s not what I thought would happen,” Louis argues. He scoots over to put some space between them, but that just makes Harry irrationally angry and cold.

He grabs Louis’ jaw and brings their mouths together, eyes squeezing shut at the bruising pressure. It’s everything he’s ever wanted but nothing he could have prepared himself for. He’s always imagined their first kiss to be at Harry’s assertion, after a night of a heart to heart in which he let out all of his feelings and Louis realized in a blind panic that he actually _did_ love him back. Not after Louis complaining about a sore jaw from the guy he blew the previous night.

Harry groans into Louis’ mouth and presses against his chest, fingernails digging into the fabric of Louis’ sweatshirt as he lies back. Louis’ hair will probably be sandy when they resurface, but Harry can’t find it in him to reposition.

The kiss is too harsh, not the type of kiss Harry ever expected Louis to give him their first time, and that makes him angry again. He deserves a better first kiss. He deserves love, hesitant advances, and the soft swipe of Louis’ tongue against his bottom lip, not his sweatshirt squeezed between Louis’ fists, not a clank of teeth, not an open mouthed, power-hungry kiss.

But then Harry remembers he was the one who initiated it, and he feels even worse.

“You dick,” Harry mumbles against Louis’ lips. When Louis realizes he has more to say, he trails his lips along Harry’s jaw. “You have too much power over me. You said one word and I was already yours. That’s not _fair.”_

“One word and I’m yours too, babe,” Louis murmurs before scraping his teeth against Harry’s jugular. “I want this just as much as you.”

“Don’t know if that’s possible,” Harry whimpers, dropping down to his elbows, baring his throat for Louis to mark. “Never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

Louis groans, one hand slipping down Harry’s back until his fingers are dipping into his boxers. Harry’s breath hitches and he brings one hand to Louis’ hair, tugging as Louis’ hand dips lower, lower, lower, fingers digging into his skin.

“I’m mad at myself for never wanting anyone else the way I want you,” Harry continues, blood rushing south. “It’s stupid. I’m pathetic.”

“Stop talking like that,” Louis whispers. Harry’s about to say something when Louis’ mouth stops him, kisses him. His free hand wanders up Harry’s back, his thumb digging into the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

The kiss is less forceful, more apologetic. Louis’ mouth tastes like regret, like a stale apology that’s been sitting around for too long, but Harry loves it. He can’t get enough of it. He’s greedy for it, tongue exploring Louis’ mouth like he’ll never get another chance.

He presses against Louis in the same way, desperate and frantic, hipbones colliding as they chase the horizon together. Harry’s brain feels fogged over—the closer he gets to the peak, the less he can remember exactly why he’s upset. His breath comes out jagged as the light approaches, Louis’ fingers gripping his shoulder and bum tighter, his legs locking around his thighs.

Harry shakes as the waves crash, shooting stars behind his eyes. Louis’ moans drift through the wind as he clutches Harry’s shoulder like he's an anchor, skin flushed, eyes glossed over.

Harry collapses on top of him after, sticky like salt water. He opens his eyes, cheek to Louis’ chest, breathing the cold air as he comes down. There are birds singing somewhere nearby, adding to the rhythmic swell and retraction of ocean.

All feels somehow better, but still unsettled. He remembers vaguely that he’s not completely at peace, but he pushes the thought from his mind and pulls Louis close.

They lie like that until a van pulls into the parking lot, two spaces down from Louis’ car.

“Should we move?” Louis asks. He pulls the hand from Harry’s boxers and nudges them both into a sitting position.

Harry sighs at their lack of foresight, eyes to his crotch.

“I’d rather jump into the ocean, honestly. But yeah.”

They stand and wrap the blanket around their shoulders, huddling close as they make their way back to the car.

They pass the family from the van on the way there, the parents’ eyes alight with understanding. Harry wishes he and Louis were less of a cliché, less transparent.

Once they make it into the car, Harry whips his jeans off and tosses his boxers into Louis’ backseat, It’s difficult to get them back on after—he thinks about just letting Louis drive with Harry half naked beside him, but he thinks of how embarrassing it would be if Louis were to be pulled over.

“Think I’m stopping for some fries on the way back,” Louis murmurs once he turns the radio down low. Harry doesn’t look back at him, continues to stare out the window. The grass on the sides of the road is dewy, shiny with precipitation. Harry wonders whether it looked the same when they drove past it earlier but it was just too dark to see. “Do you want something?”

“I’ll just take some of yours,” Harry answers.

Louis grins, casting his eyes Harry’s way for a brief second. “As always.”

Something about those three syllables resonates with Harry. He replays Louis’ words over and over in a loop in his mind. _As always, as always, as always._  

They begin to lose their meaning, as most things do. But beyond that, it strikes Harry that even after the declaration, the admittance that it’s mutual, the confirmation of everything Harry’s desired for years, nothing feels particularly different.

They’re still here in Louis’ shitty car with no heating. They’re still on their way to McDonald’s. They’re still going to smoke too much the next time Zayn pulls through.

The shift has happened, but Harry doesn’t feel like his world was flipped upside down. It’s disappointing in a way.

“Louis, I think I know what you meant,” Harry announces.

Louis hums and checks his rear view mirror.

Harry continues, urged on by his hum. “About tricking yourself into believing something that’s not actually true.”

“Well, go on, then,” Louis indicates.

“I tricked myself into thinking everything would change when you realized you loved me back,” Harry laughs. “I thought that, like, the stars would align and it’d be like the movies. I’ve felt—I don’t know, _stuck._ In my life. In everything. And I thought this would somehow make everything better, but all that’s changed is we can kiss and fuck now.”

Louis’ hand finds Harry’s knee. “That’s not true. We can cuddle and go on dates, I can introduce you to my family and—”

“Your family already knows me. And likes me. Half of your cousins think I’m your boyfriend already,” Harry drops his head back against the seat in frustration.

“And who’s always held you when you smoke too much and cry? Who’s the first person you call when you need help cooking for your sisters when you’re babysitting? _That’s me._ We’ve practically been dating this entire time, but we haven’t actually because you’ve only just decided _now_ that you’re tired of pretending you don’t like me.”

Harry places his fingers atop Louis’ and squeezes. “This is so fucked up. We’re so stupid. Nothing’s different. Nothing feels different to me.”

“Things are a little bit different. You probably won’t be able to stay over in my bed anymore,” Louis offers.

“But that’s not a good different. That’s a terrible different,” Harry groans.

“But with change, there’s progress.”

Harry might side-eye him.

Louis follows the McDonald’s sign and exits, keeping right.

“Not sure that’s exactly the kind of _progress_ I want in my life right now.”

The McDonald’s is right off the exit, abandoned and empty. Louis pulls into the drive thru and orders the large fry.

Once they’re paid for, the bag of fries hot in Harry’s lap, Louis merges back onto the highway.

“What kind of progress do you think you want in your life right now?” Louis asks, accepting the crispy fry Harry hands to him.

It’s like a weird, long game of pass the joint. Harry thinks his question over, but nothing exactly comes to mind.

“I don’t know what I’m looking for. And that’s, like, that’s what’s scary.”

Louis turns to glance at him, his eyes sad. “Am I not what you’re looking for, after all?”

Harry wants to kiss the sadness from his face, regrets taking so long to answer, but the words just won’t come out right.

“You’re what I’m looking for, but you’re also _not._ I think I need something more. In _addition_ to you.”

“Something more, like, another person? I can ask Zayn—”

Harry laughs, stuffing a soggy fry into his mouth. “Tempting as that is _, no._ I mean, like, just something _more,_ you know? Our town is small. We know _everybody._ I’m not sure how many more memories I can make here without them all accumulating into some weird manifestation of the same thing.”

Louis nods, his face tight. “Let’s run away, then. You and me. We can take my car, drive into the city, join a band or something. It’ll be great.”

“Ha ha,” Harry laughs sarcastically, shoving a fry into Louis’ mouth over the console. “Yeah, because my parents wouldn’t mind. I haven’t even finished school yet.”

“Who needs school when you already have what it takes?”

Harry thinks it over as he eats twice the amount of fries he gives Louis. He’s not sure he has what it takes. He doesn’t even know what _it_ is.

And when they get to the front of Harry’s house, he still hasn’t really come up with a response.

“Will I still see you tonight?” Louis asks, hand to Harry’s headrest.

Nothing’s changed.

Harry nods with a sigh and pecks Louis on the cheek, noting that even _that_ isn’t too out of the ordinary. “Of course.”

He’s careful as he closes the passenger door, praying his parents are still asleep, though it wouldn’t be the first time he’s been caught. 

Only a moment later, he’s at his front door, pulling his key from his pocket.

Quiet, quiet. They’ll never know a thing.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://thedarkestlarrie.tumblr.com)
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> [rebloggable tumblr post](http://thedarkestlarrie.tumblr.com/post/114971348176/at-louis-underscore-fic-night-changes)


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